


Scale Of One To Ten

by dorkilysoulless (custodian)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Open Marriage, positive acknowledgement of real life relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 14:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1901712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/custodian/pseuds/dorkilysoulless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jared finds something in Misha’s suitcase at a con and does him one better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scale Of One To Ten

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill for [Hellatus Prompt Fic Tuesday](http://itfeltpurefic.tumblr.com/hellatus) on my Tumblr blog. Original link with prompt is [here](http://itfeltpurefic.tumblr.com/post/89051700054/mishalecki-jared-finds-mishas-toys-in-his-room-at-a).

“Hey, Mish? Why’s there a big rubber dick in your suitcase?”

“Why’s there a what?” Misha leans out of the bathroom to look and see what Jared’s actually talking about, because he could swear that Jared just said the words big rubber dick, and that can’t be right. Except there Jared is, grinning, holding up a generously sized purple dildo.

“Oh god,” he says. A grin breaks wide across his face. He covers his mouth with his hand. “Yeah. That’s…technically that’s a big silicone dick.”

Jared raises his eyebrows. “Silicone?” 

“Yep. Rubber’s porous. Silicone isn’t. It’s easier to clean.” Misha gently pries the dildo from Jared’s fingers and returns it to the bag on his bed. “And in answer to your question, the big silicone dick is probably in my bag because Vicki put it there for me.”

“Your wife leaves dicks in your suitcase when you go to cons?” 

Misha smirks. “Only if I’ve been a good boy.”

“Huh,” Jared says, and for a blessed moment Misha thinks Jared’s going to let the topic drop. 

And then Jared gets that look in his eyes that says, unequivocally, that Hurricane Padalecki has made landfall. 

“So, like, how good were you?”

Misha swallows. It occurs to him that Jared is pretty deep in his personal space. “What, you want details?”

“Nah. Just scale of one to ten.” 

Wow, Jared’s lips are close. 

“I…uh…seven-ish? Eight-ish?”

Jared’s thumbs hook into Misha’s waistband, and Misha lets himself be pulled in. Jared’s body is warm and firm beneath his clothes. His lips are soft against Misha’s neck. There’s a growing swell in his jeans where he’s grinding a little on Misha’s hip. 

The feeling is increasingly mutual. 

“Uh, Jay? I appreciate the interest, but—”

Jared kisses him hard, one hand cradling the back of Misha’s head. He tastes like apples and gummi bears, and his tongue…well, it’s definitely not a stage kiss. 

“What do you want to bet I’m a better reward than a silicone dick?” Jared purrs against his skin, then pushes Misha face-down onto the bed. 

“Zip pocket,” Misha says as Jared tugs Misha’s jeans down his thighs.

“Huh?”

“Lube and condoms. Zip pocket of my suitcase.”

Jared reaches over, grabs the edge of the bag, and pulls it close enough he can get into the pocket. “You bring condoms and lube to cons?”

“My wife sends me dicks. Dicks come with accessories.”

“Right, but condoms?”

“Easier clean-up.”

Jared chuckles and pops the lube cap. “Man. You think you know a guy.”

Misha groans when Jared’s finger slips inside him. He relaxes his muscles and moves his hips along with the gentle in-and-out. He accommodates a second finger easily, exhaling through the press of it.

There’s no disputing that Vicki’s trained him to take it like a champ, but he’s only half of this equation. Somebody — specifically the somebody with big hands who’s murmuring filthy endearments against his spine while he works Misha open — feels like he’s got a fair bit of experience, too. 

“I am so getting you drunk later and asking for an explanation,” Misha says, mostly into the comforter, but Jared laughs, so that’s okay. 

The two of them have seen each other in various stages of undress, so he’s kind of abstractly aware of Jared’s cock, but he’s never seen Jared naked and hard. He doesn’t get to this time, either. What he gets is the sound of Jared opening up a condom and slicking himself up before the blunt warmth of Jared’s cock presses against his entrance.

“I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you,” he says as he works himself in, just an inch or so at a time. There are a not insignificant number of inches. “Gonna wreck you, Mish. Gonna drill you into the mattress for being a good fucking boy.”

“Fuck yes,” Misha grinds out, low and rough. “Do it. Nail me down.”

Once he’s in, Jared’s anything but gentle. He’s all grasping hands and hard thrusts, putting Misha where he wants him, which right now is flat against the mattress while Jared straddles his ass, hands on the small of Misha’s back. 

“Don’t you even slow down. Don’t you even,” he babbles, pushing back against Jared’s thrusts and grinding his own dick into the sheets. “Oh, fuck. Fuck.”

He comes first, all profanity and overstimulation, and Jared makes the filthiest, most triumphant noise in his throat. He doesn’t last a whole lot longer. It occurs to Misha that maybe he’d been holding out. Like this was a competition. 

Jared rolls off of him and sprawls, panting. 

“Well,” Misha says as he sits up, still catching his breath. “I’m going to have to find new ways to antagonize the TSA.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Just, uh, I’m gonna need a clean shirt from my suitcase.”


End file.
